Sickness, Stupidity, and Sacrifice
by UnattemptedFeat
Summary: The tenants at Baker Street deal with their fair share of injuries and illnesses. These are the stories behind some of their scars, pains, and rash decisions.
1. Look Before You Leap

"Sherlock Holmes, you are the stupidest, most insane person I have ever met!" John huffed as he and Elizabeth half-carried a limping detective.

"I do believe you have made that comment before, John." Sherlock retorted with a pained gasp.

Sherlock, John, and Elizabeth had been chasing Jonas McDowell, who had murdered three women. The chase had led them up to the rooftops of London. Elizabeth had been very thankful that she had inherited Sherlock's speed, allowing her to easily keep up with her father and even outrun John at times. McDowell had taken a flying leap across a gap, rolling to a stand. Obviously thinking that his pursuers wouldn't dare to follow, he turned with a smirk.

Never underestimate Sherlock Holmes. Or his companions, for that matter.

Sherlock, John, and Elizabeth all leapt across the gap. John, using his army training, and Elizabeth, from experience at the skate park, rolled to their feet smoothly. Sherlock, completely intent on taking of running as soon as his feet touched the roof, landed on his feet. His right ankle buckled from the impact, and he stumbled to the ground. Elizabeth spared a glance behind her before leaping onto McDowell, who had stood there staring like an idiot. John handcuffed him with cuffs Sherlock had lifted from Lestrade, and he called the DI in on his mobile.

Elizabeth went to check on her father, who was standing stubbornly. He refused to accept help to walk, but after a few minutes, he allowed Elizabeth to support him. Leaving McDowell for Lestrade, Elizabeth and John managed to get Sherlock down the fire escape.

Now they were making their way slowly back to the flat. John was sure that the ankle was only twisted. So all he worried about was how he would convince Sherlock do stay still for a few hours.

"I can walk!" Sherlock insisted for the hundredth time. But Elizabeth and John didn't let go. Really, Sherlock made no move to get away, not that they would have let him.

"Almost there," Elizabeth said as they turned the corner onto Baker Street. "And then stairs."

John and Sherlock groaned. No one was looking forward to that.

It took them an entire seven minutes to get him up the one flight of stairs. They finally lowered Sherlock onto the couch, everyone breathing hard. Elizabeth pulled his coat and scarf off of him, and John fetched paracetamol.

Sherlock was quiet for ten minutes before he declared that he was bored.

"Go to your Mind Palace," John suggested, intent in his newspaper.

"I did that this morning," Sherlock drawled. "I'm bored."

"We know," Elizabeth said.

"Well, do something about it!" Sherlock snapped.

"You deal with him," John stood. "I'm going to bed." John left for his room, leaving Elizabeth with her bored father.

"Elizabeth, I'm bored!"

"I know, Dad. Don't worry you can get up in a few hours."

"I can't sit around here until five AM," Sherlock whined.

"You are perfectly able to," Elizabeth countered.

Sherlock brooded for about twenty minutes, allowing Elizabeth to read a couple of chapters of _Crime and Punishment_. She wished that she could go to bed, but she knew she had to stay down here or else Sherlock could set the flat on fire.

"Elizabeth."

"Yes, Dad?"

"Will you get me the fingers from the microwave?"

"Look at you, asking politely," Elizabeth observed. "But, no. You know John's rule. No body parts anywhere but the kitchen."

"Please, Elizabeth," Sherlock pleaded.

Elizabeth said nothing.

"I thought I taught you to be obedient," Sherlock huffed.

"You know that I am obedient, and that you're just saying that because you're bored. And technically, I am being obedient. I'm just obeying John at the moment, not you."

"Is this how you all feel?" Sherlock mused. "Useless, helpless, dull. You must feel like this all the time. I can't do this. I can feel my brain cells dying!"

"It's just a few hours!" Elizabeth said, exasperated. She was tired, she wasn't in the mood for her father's attitude. "You know, sometimes you act like a child. I have to play the adult instead. That's not exactly how it's supposed to work."

"You play 'adult' better than I do. Even though I technically am one," Sherlock pointed out.

"That's what everyone says," Elizabeth muttered, not actually meaning for Sherlock to hear.

"Who says that?"

"Oh, I don't know. John, Lestrade, Mycroft..." Elizabeth rattled off the names.

"What do they know?"

Knowing it was meant to be rhetorical, Elizabeth answered, "Well, John knows a lot about healing people. Lestrade knows about the bureaucracy of New Scotland Yard. Mycroft is pretty much the British Government, so he knows everything." Sherlock just glared at his daughter.

Elizabeth smiled innocently back and returned to her book.

"Why don't you just go to bed?" Sherlock asked after twenty minutes of silence. "You're obviously tired."

"Yes, I am," Elizabeth admitted. "But you will _obviously_ disregard the suggestion to stay still the moment I leave."

"How are you going to stay up until five AM?" Sherlock scoffed. "You've been up since two this morning."

"Two yesterday morning actually," Elizabeth corrected. "It's 12:34."

"You can't stay awake for over 24 hours!"

"Can to," Elizabeth argued. "I have six times before."

"When?" Sherlock furrowed his brow.

"That's for me to know," Elizabeth answered cryptically. In fact, each time had been on a case. But she hoped to give him something to occupy his time for a while.

It worked. He was silent for an hour.

"Morrison case, Two-Face case, Jenkins case, Louisa case, Waterfall case, and Odette case."

"What?" Elizabeth forced herself to stay awake.

"The six times you've stayed up more than 24 hours," Sherlock explained.

"Correct."

"Obviously."

"How do you manage to stay up for astonishing periods for time without getting tired?" Elizabeth asked. "I wish I had inherited your ability to stay awake."

Instead of answering her question, Sherlock asked one of his own, "Do you wish you had inherited my mind?"

Elizabeth thought about that, "I am content with the amount of it I did inherit. I got some of your skills, but not all of them. I don't have a Mind Palace. I can't delete things. But I have some deduction talents. Maybe not as much as you'd like me to have, though."

"If I had wanted you to be exactly like me, I'd have trained you as a consulting detective from birth." Sherlock said matter-of-factly.

"Why didn't you?"

"I wanted you to have a choice," Sherlock said slowly. "I didn't want my life to be forced upon you. Also it was much too dangerous for you to solve cases with me when you were that young. Now, however, you can choose to accompany me in dangerous situations. I always tell you the truth, because I want you to be able to make fully-informed decisions. I am happy with whatever you choose to do with your life. Yes, it would be fantastic if you would follow in my footsteps. You certainly have a bend for solving crimes. But I wouldn't make you become like me."

"See you can be an adult," Elizabeth attempted to lighten the conversation a bit.

"I promise to try never to do it again."

Two hours later, Elizabeth was still managing to stay awake. But just barely.

"I've only got about an hour left," Sherlock said. "I will promise to stay here if you would just go to bed."

"I don't believe you," Elizabeth shook her head stubbornly.

Sherlock sighed, "So stubborn. I like to think that you get that from me."

"Oh, I'm sure I do," Elizabeth agreed. "Being stubborn is definitely something we're both good at."

Sherlock nodded. Elizabeth opened her laptop and read John's latest blog post.

"Do you like John's blog?" Sherlock asked after she closed the laptop.

"I think he's a good writer, and he writes the cases up accurately."

"Yes, but what do you think about how he protrays you?"

Elizabeth replied, "I mean, I suppose it seems like me."

"It isn't a very accurate description my opinion."

"Oh? And why is that?" Elizabeth thought John's protrayal of her was just fine. Flattering, even.

"He doesn't give you enough credit. And he hardly ever writes up the cases he isn't apart of. He doesn't mention the countless cases you and I work without him."

"Well, you can't expect him to write about something he doesn't even know happened!" Elizabeth defended John. "We've usually investigated three cases by the time he gets home every day."

Sherlock shrugged, conceding to her logic.

Ten minutes later, Elizabeth was staring at the clock, willing it to go faster.

Finally it ticked five AM.

Sherlock bounded off the couch and darted into the kitchen, pulling his fingers from the microwave.

Elizabeth raced to her room and collapsed onto her bed, falling asleep almost instantly.


	2. Keep Your Head Up

Sherlock watched Elizabeth intently on the way back to Baker Street. The doctor at A&E had assured them that it was only a mild concussion. John had agreed, and that had made Sherlock feel a little bit better.

But just a little bit.

Sherlock, Elizabeth, and John had cornered a suspect in a warehouse. Lestrade was on his way, and their job was to keep the man from getting away. What they hadn't planned for was that the man would have a baton. And that he would take a swing at Elizabeth.

All Sherlock saw was red after he had seen Elizabeth crumple to the floor. She had only passed out for a few moments, but that was plenty of time for Sherlock to wrestle the baton away and whack the man unconscious. John had tended to a stirring Elizabeth while Sherlock roughly handcuffed the suspect to a pole in the warehouse. He made sure to cinch the handcuffs as painfully tight as he possibly could.

Lestrade had rushed in just as they were rushing out, already hailing a taxi. They hurried to the A&E, John having already determined that she would most likely be fine. Though they hadn't called ahead, a neurologist and an awaiting MRI greeted them. Sherlock had sent a silent thanks to his brother for his help.

The taxi dropped the three of them off at Baker Street. Elizabeth was fine besides a headache and didn't sway at all as she walked. But Sherlock still kept a hand on her arm just in case.

Sherlock walked her up to her room while John fetched paracetamol.

Before they left, John said, "One of us will be up in two hours. We have to wake you up and ask you some questions to make absolutely sure there isn't any damage the MRI didn't detect."

Elizabeth mumbled her agreement before dozing off.

Two hours later, Sherlock trekked back up to her room. He had volunteered to take the first shift, and John had suggested that they alternate after that.

He shook her awake, "What's your name?"

"Elizabeth."

"Full name?" Sherlock asked.

"Elizabeth Angelica Holmes," Elizabeth murmured groggily.

"What is the fifth element in the periodic table?"

"That is not a question you ask someone with a concussion. Some people don't know that normally." Elizabeth argued.

"Well, you aren't 'some people'," Sherlock replied.

"Boron."

"How many feet in a mile?" Sherlock continued his interrogation.

Instead of answering his question, Elizabeth made a deduction, "You know it wasn't your fault, right?"

"Just answer the question."

"There wasn't anything you could've done," Elizabeth ignored him.

Sherlock was silent for a moment, "Answer the question and you can go back to sleep."

"Fine. 5,280 feet in a mile. Happy?" Elizabeth rolled away from him.

"Quite," Sherlock walked to the door. "See you in four hours."

John woke Elizabeth up at two am.

"What's your full name?" John rubbed at his eyes.

"Elizabeth Angelica Holmes," Elizabeth felt bad for the doctor. "I'm fine. You don't have to wake me up anymore."

"Just a precaution. I'm not going to take any chances."

"Is he brooding on the couch?" Elizabeth asked, knowing John would know what she meant.

"Yeah." John sat on the bed.

"It wasn't his fault," Elizabeth protested. "There wasn't anything he could've done. And I told him that two hours ago."

"His brain tells him that logically he could have prevented it," John said. "But his heart, no matter how out of practice it is, is telling him that he should've somehow done _something_. It's confusing the hell out of him."

"Logic is warring against emotion he tries to suppress," Elizabeth summed up. "That must be killing him."

"He'll be fine once he goes to his Mind Palace and reasons with himself. But I need to ask you two more questions for my visit to count. I told Sherlock he had to ask you at least three."

"Fire away," Elizabeth put her hands behind her head.

"When were you born?"

"March 9, 2001."

"Thank you. What is your father's full name?"

Elizabeth chuckled, "William Sherlock Scott Holmes. You know he told me that he wants me to name my children after him. He says I will have three boys. William, Sherlock, and Scott."

"Doesn't he want a granddaughter?"

"I don't know. I don't think he really wants to think about me having children unless we're joking."

"It's a scary thing for a parent, I'm sure. It reminds him of how old he is." John said goodnight, promising to come back at six am.

At four sharp, Sherlock poked Elizabeth in the shoulder.

"What's your full name?" Sherlock asked. Elizabeth noticed that he had changed out of his suit and was now wearing his blue dressing gown. But he still didn't look like he'd been sleeping.

"Elizabeth Angelica Holmes," Elizabeth said tiredly. "You should really go to sleep. You don't have to come up and check on me any after this."

Sherlock just waved her suggestion away, "Can you name three of Edgar Allan Poe's poems?"

"You are really bad at these questions," Elizabeth remarked. At Sherlock's level stare, she sighed, "Bells, The Raven, and Annabel Lee."

"Who wrote War and Peace?" Sherlock continued.

"Leo Tolstoy. And what's the million dollar question?" Elizabeth joked.

At Sherlock's obvious confusion, she said, "Never mind. Remind me to make you watch daytime telly sometime."

Sherlock made a sour face and left the room.

Elizabeth felt like it was only three seconds later that she was woken again. This wasn't nearly as gentle as the other times, this was more determined. Was John mad at something?

But the face looking down at her wasn't John. It was Sherlock.

Elizabeth was instantly alert, "What's happened? What's wrong?"

"What's your full name?" Sherlock was searching her eyes.

"This is not the time for questions!" Elizabeth wanted to know what was wrong. "Dad, what happened? Is John okay?"

"What's your full name?!"

"Elizabeth Angelica Holmes!" Elizabeth almost screamed. "Now tell me what's going on! Who's hurt? Do we have a case?" She started to get out of bed, but Sherlock stopped her.

"It's nothing like that," he had visibly relaxed after she'd answered the question.

"Then what?" Elizabeth was really starting to freak out. She desperately hoped everyone was okay.

Sherlock said nothing, but he pointed at the clock on Elizabeth's bedside table. It read 7:13 AM.

"What? What about the clock?" Elizabeth asked impatiently. Had she missed an appointment or something? She didn't remember having to go to the dentist's or anything today.

"John fell asleep," Sherlock explained. Elizabeth still didn't understand. "It's been almost three-and-a-half hours."

What? He wasn't making any sense. But then it dawned on Elizabeth.

"My concussion!" Elizabeth was aghast. "Oh my God! I thought somebody was dying!"

"No, no, everyone's fine," Sherlock assured her. "I just...John said that it was important that you be woken up every _two_ hours. And when I saw the clock..."

"It was just a precaution, Dad," Elizabeth soothed. "He only stressed it that much so that you would actually do it. It really wasn't necessary." Elizabeth rubbed her eyes and got out of bed, there was no way she was sleeping now.

She and Sherlock went down to the living room. John was, in fact, fast asleep in his armchair. As Sherlock began to experiment on some eyeballs, Elizabeth deduced from the scene.

She noticed the scuffs in the carpet from someone running. John had not moved at all, so no one had even tried to wake him up. The picture of what had happened surfaced in her mind.

Sherlock must have noticed the time and just taken off running. He hadn't even roused John and made him go and ask the questions. Instead, he had just bolted up the stairs and done it himself.

Touched, Elizabeth went into the kitchen and asked him about his experiment. She knew that he liked to be asked what he was doing, and then be told he was brilliant after his explanation.

So Elizabeth did just that.


End file.
